


wish you were here

by sereneguillotines



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bottom GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Crossdressing, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Smut, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28894731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sereneguillotines/pseuds/sereneguillotines
Summary: The box is too large to only contain a hoodie, so George looks back into the box, and–what the fuck.He really has no other response than another bewildered, what the fuck. Somehow, the longer he looks at the box, the more confused he gets. George wants to slam the box flaps shut, re-tape up the box and forget about the whole thing, but there's a small, persistent urge to carefully lift the remaining items out of the box and try them on.Who in their right mind sends a friend women’s lingerie anyway?
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 738
Collections: :(, MCYT





	wish you were here

**Author's Note:**

> disclaimer: this is a work of fiction about these ccs' online personas. will take this down if they ever express discomfort with these kinds of works.
> 
> with that said, please enjoy :)

George doesn’t particularly enjoy checking the mail. It’s usually just junk mail. And bills.

Neither are very particularly pleasant. 

He usually forgets to check his mailbox unless he’s expecting packages, but today, since he has some time to kill before his stream, he might as well act like a semi-functioning adult and go check his it.

There, George finds the usual miscellaneous envelopes and  _ unusually _ , a mid-sized package. He hasn’t ordered anything online recently, he checks the label and sees that not only is the package from Florida, it has Dream’s name on it. A package of this weight from Florida to Brighton must’ve been an intentional decision, but Dream didn't tell him about it in advance. It’s not for a video and there aren't any milestones or special occasions coming up, at least to George's knowledge, so what is it for?

He takes home all the mail and sets them on his kitchen table to be opened later. Regardless of how intriguing Dream’s mystery package is, he has a Twitch stream to start.

-

Hours later, George waves at the camera, says goodbye to his viewers, and quickly shuts the stream down. The thought of Dream’s package kept nagging at the back of his mind throughout the stream, a slight but constant distraction from his gameplay. He has too many questions to ask, but the most persistent one is: Why would Dream send something, but not say anything?

Perhaps Dream just forgot to tell him?

Well, he needs another glass of water after the stream anyway, so might as well ponder the now officially dubbed ‘Package Problem’ from the kitchen.

Empty glass in hand, he stretches as he makes his way to fill it up. As he runs the glass under the tap, the package greets him, sitting innocuously on the kitchen counter. George chews his lip–should he open it? If he doesn’t, it’ll just sit on the counter until he does. What’s the worst that can happen anyway? He’s going to put the mystery to rest, open it, and just get it over with. He can’t be arsed to walk back to his room to get something proper to open the package with, so he uses his nail to slice open the tape.

The first thing he sees when he opens the box is a powder blue Dream sweatshirt. Of course the bastard sends over his own merch. He lifts it out of the box and runs his hands over the soft fabric. The jumper is clearly in Dream’s size and seems to be merch that has yet to be officially released. George’s heart swells at the prospect of wearing the oversized garment and at the fact that he’s, just maybe, a little special to Dream.

The box is too large to only contain a hoodie, so George looks back into the box, and– _ what the fuck _ .

He really has no other response than another bewildered,  _ what the fuck _ . Somehow, the longer he looks at the box, the more confused he gets. George wants to slam the box flaps shut, re-tape up the box and forget about the whole thing, but there's a small, persistent urge to carefully lift the remaining items out of the box and try them on.

Who in their right mind sends a friend  _ women’s lingerie  _ anyway?

The thing is, it’s not _just_ lingerie. The rest of the box’s contents include a pair of powder blue panties, a short black slip dress, and a pair of black heels. George tries not to think about how the panties match with the hoodie, down to the exact shade. He’s most definitely not thinking about wearing the assorted women’s clothing together either. Not in any combination. Not one garment. Not at all.

His first thought is that this is just a prank Dream is pulling on his friend, but one touch of the items tells George that this is high quality. He doesn't want to think about the combined total of these items. It’s clear that Dream seems to have put time and effort into obtaining them, so it’s not likely that Dream is playing a practical joke on George.

The only logical conclusion is that Dream bought these things for him to wear.

Maybe it’s because he’s liked Dream since pretty much forever, but George isn’t exactly repulsed. If Dream asked, he'd do almost anything for the other man. George is surprised, mortified, and a little intrigued, but certainly not repulsed by the contents of the package. Really, the thing he’s most suspicious of is that Dream seems to know all his clothing sizes.

He started streaming at a reasonable hour today, so the time isn’t entirely heinous now. It’s either try on the clothes or lie in bed and scroll through his phone for hours on end.

Might as well do the former.

He piles all the clothes back into the box and carries it to his bedroom, locking the door on the way in. There’s no one else in his flat but it still feels like a dirty secret worthy of being hidden behind a locked door. 

George wiggles out of his clothes, save his briefs. Naked and a little cold, he picks up the slip dress and pulls it over his head in one go. It falls somewhere mid-thigh, briefs barely peeking out from underneath. He's more covered now but somehow feels more exposed and vulnerable. His hands smooth down the invisible folds of the dress which loosely clings to the soft planes of his torso. He doesn't dare look at himself in the mirror, not yet, so he grabs the hoodie and tugs it over himself for the sake of feeling less self-conscious. It's exactly as soft as George imagined, bringing him some familiar comfort in this unfamiliar situation.

Next, the panties. His face burns even before he takes them out of its packaging, so he sets it aside, possibly for later ( _ definitely for later _ ). With this, he resolves to at least try on the heels.

George lifts them out of the box and slides his feet into the shoes. It’s a foreign, delightfully uncomfortable feeling. He tightens the three horizontal straps, sliding them into their respective buckle. The shoes are just the right size and are really more of a boot than a pump, with thick platforms and chunky heels. The straps are thick enough to secure his feet into the footwear, with an additional vertical strap that runs from the ankle to the toe, adorned with overlapping silver o-rings. He’s already having a difficult enough time with these, relatively sturdy shoes–thank goodness they aren’t stilettos.

Once he’s all buckled up, he makes an attempt to stand up off the side of his bed. His entire body wobbles, and one hand immediately shoots out to brace himself against the wall for some semblance of stability. The shoes are hard to walk in and George barely manages to walk across the length of the room, even as he half-leans against the wall.

As mollified as George is to admit it, he likes them, he likes all of this. From the faux leather of the heels to the soft, sleek shift dress. He doesn’t look like a girl, the outfit doesn't emphasize his curves or softness in any particular way, but he feels  _ pretty,  _ an odd balance of delicate yet sultry, sultry yet delicate.

All he wants right now is for Dream to take care of him.

If Dream was here, maybe he’d let George sit in his lap. Dream is so much  _ bigger  _ than him in every way and George wants to feel small. He thinks about Dream’s fingers carding through his hair, Dream’s breath in the crook of his neck, Dream’s hands wandering  _ down.  _ He thinks about kneeling, bending over, begging, and crying for Dream. He thinks about dressing up like this and the things Dream would say–everything from telling George how good and pretty he is to telling George how naughty and slutty he is. An audible whimper escapes George’s throat and he immediately claps a hand over his mouth in shame.

Then, he notices he’s hard.

George’s face flushes cherry blossom pink, and before the guilt of wanking off to his best friend properly sets in, he quickly removes the sweatshirt and tosses it somewhere behind him. He sits back on the side of his bed and uses his other hand to palm himself through the thin fabric of the dress. The first touch elicits a shuddering exhale and he sets a gentle rhythm to start, but quickly, he finds that it’s not enough. His thighs press together in search of more friction and his hand picks up in speed, but George knows there’s only one way he’ll be satisfied.

His hands stop its ministrations, and he lets out a pitiful cry at the aching feeling that reverbs throughout his body _.  _ He almost tears his briefs off as he stumbles in the direction of his nightstand. It’s difficult to get them off around the heels, but he manages. Relief floods him when he finally frees the lube from the nightstand drawer. The click of the cap opening excites him more than he should and he frantically drips some of the liquid to coat his awaiting fingers. He shifts his position so that he’s propped up at an angle by his pillows. The bottom of the dress bunches up at the waist, allowing his legs to spread open and allow his arm to snake downwards.

A finger presses at George’s entrance, and he lets out a little sigh as it enters. He gives himself a few moments to adjust before pressing in a second finger. Once both are knuckle deep, he starts thrusting his fingers in and out. He moans softly at the pull and stretch, and this time, he doesn’t try to muffle the noises he makes. He lets out a louder cry when his fingers finally brush his prostate. Without thinking, he immediately thrusts them faster directly into his prostate. This newfound level of simulation makes his moans grow louder and more desperate.

As his fingers thrust and twist inside him, George shuts his eyes and imagines Dream fingering him instead. Dream’s fingers must be larger than his, they’d stretch him nice and wide. He’d need two fingers, perhaps even three, before he’d be sufficiently stretched for Dream to comfortably slide into him. George would hook his legs over Dream, then the other man would relentlessly pound into George’s smaller frame. He’d tell George,  _ no touching yourself,  _ and even when George comes untouched, he’ll keep going until  _ he  _ comes inside George’s tight hole, regardless of how stupidly oversensitive post-orgasm George is.

The thought of it is enough to push George closer and closer to the edge.

A couple more thrusts and a few more thoughts about Dream coming in his arse has George letting out a loud wail of  _ Dream! Fuck–Dream, please! _ He climaxes harder than he has in a long while, gently thrusting his fingers in and out as his high dies down. 

Chest still heaving, he sits up properly and winces a little at the mess he made–he needs to throw the dress into the wash, hopefully it's not ruined. He scoots to the side of the bed to finally take off the shoes, undoing each buckle one by one. Once he finally frees his feet, he groans at the pain. He’s definitely going to be feeling this soreness for a while. His feet, not his arse (at least not yet).

He puts the shoes back in the box then shoves the box under his bed. The sweatshirt is still clean and compared to the other items, innocent enough, so George tosses it on his desk chair. Still wearing the dirty dress, he picks up the briefs and limps to the bathroom to take a nice, hot shower.

He drops both articles of clothing in the laundry bin and starts to run the water. Once sufficiently warm, he steps into the small cubicle into the embrace of the spray.

Then, the guilt sets in.

George just wanked off thinking of his best friend. He  _ fantasized  _ about Dream doing dirty things to him.

Jesus Christ, how's he going to face Dream now?

-

The answer? In short, he doesn't.

Over the next few days, George avoids Dream like the plague. Any mention of Dream has him going quiet during full blown group conversations, he drops out of collaborations involving Dream last minute with flimsy excuses, and he even starts ignoring Dream's private messages. In essence, George feels guilty for fantasizing about Dream so he ignores Dream, then he feels even more guilty for ignoring his best friend.

It's a vicious cycle of guilt, really.

The situation gets so bad that George receives texts from Sapnap about the situation:

sapnap (23:46): hey serious talk time

sapnap (23:46): whats happening btween u and Dream ???

georgenotfound (23:48): nothing its fine

sapnap (23:48): dude

sapnap (23:48): youve been avoiding and ignoring him

sapnap (23:48): everyones noticed

sapnap (23:48): youre literally so obvious

georgenotfound (23:48): shut up

georgenotfound (23:49): i dont simp for him

sapnap (23:49): u always hang on to whatever he says

sapnap (23:49): even on stream

sapnap (23:49): but now its complete radio silence

George isn't sure if this is the right move, but Sapnap is trustworthy enough and knows Dream well. Also, George needs advice from another human being.

georgenotfound (23:50): fine

georgenotfound (23:51): so he sent me this package

sapnap (23:52): oh

sapnap (23:52): holy fuck

georgenotfound (23:52): ???

georgenotfound (23:56): u cant just disappear after that wtf

georgenotfound (23:57): SAPNAP

Did Dream tell Sapnap about the package? Does Sapnap know what it is? Judging from his reaction, he does know, and George doesn’t know whether he wants to strangle Sapnap, Dream, or both of them. They both should be thankful that there’s an ocean between the two of them and George.

A couple minutes later and Sapnap still hasn't responded. Clearly, he’s gone for now, so he tosses his phone aside and sits in front of his monitor. He’s not up to stream, so he just fiddles around and organizes his desktop. Sometimes he’s too lazy to put files where they should go, so when he needs certain files, they’re almost impossible to find.

Across the room, his phone buzzes–

sapnap (00:13): u guys are so stupid lol

sapnap (00:13): just

sapnap (00:13): when Dream texts u

sapnap (00:13): text him back ok

sapnap (00:13): ?

georgenotfound (00:17): fine

georgenotfound (00:17): arsehole

Cryptic and tight-lipped Sapnap is the worst Sapnap. He most definitely told Dream about his and George’s text conversation–so much for trustworthiness. Good thing it was nothing too exposing. All Dream knows is that he received the package. If he extrapolates from that, Dream will also know that because of the package, George has been ignoring him.

Cool.

Then, his phone buzzes again. It’s probably just Sapnap again, he’d better apologize for ghosting him like that early– _ oh. _

A sharp inhale.

It’s not Sapnap.

dream (00:21): hey

dream (00:21): i think we should talk

As tempted as he is to ignore Dream and shelve the conversation for later, he heeds Sapnap’s words. Fingers shaking, George taps out a response.

georgenotfound (00:21): ok

[incoming call from dream]

“Hey, George.” 

He clears his throat and hopes his voice doesn’t come out choked or breathy. “Hey.”

“Haven’t talked to you in a while.”

“Yeah,” George fidgets in his chair, shifting positions, before ending up curling up so that his knees are drawn to his chest and feet are resting on the seat. Their stilted dialogue and too-long silences are a foreign occurrence in their conversations, and George does not like it one bit.

A little exhale on the other end, “So, I heard you got my package?”

George looks down at his current attire, boxer shorts and the damn Dream hoodie. He’s been living in the sweatshirt for the last few days, and instead of admitting how much he loves the sweatshirt to Dream, he just says, “Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

He doesn’t know what to expect of Dream’s response, but it’s definitely not Dream blurting out a panicked apology, “I’m sorry, really, I’m so sorry. I don’t want this to change anything between us, can we just forget it happened?”

The normally unshakeable Dream is frantically apologizing to George over a package of lingerie. It just doesn’t seem real.

“How did you even get these things in the first place? Most people don’t have women’s lingerie in their friend’s sizes just lying around!” It comes out more accusatory than he’d like, but his thoughts are a cloudy, jumbled mess–it’s difficult to think calmly during this sort of confrontation.

“Fuck–” George can hear Dream audibly thinking on the other end. “I got really drunk a while ago, just by myself at home. I guess I was thinking about how lonely I was, and Drunk-Me thought it would be a great idea to, to go on an  _ online shopping spree, _ I guess.” He trails off in uncertainty, painful honesty bleeding through his voice.

“And Sober-You thought it would be a good idea to actually mail the package over?”

“Well I put the hoodie on top!”

“And what was that supposed to do!”

He doesn’t get a quick response this time and the two spend a moment trading breaths over the line. It's awkward, but at least both of them are equally uncomfortable with this conversation.

Maybe it’s George’s turn to be a little more vulnerable.

“I tried the stuff you sent me on.”

An audible inhale on the other end, “What did you think?”

“The sweatshirt is really comfortable. I’ve been wearing it around the house.” The safest answer. Now the ball is in Dream’s court.

“And the others?”

George is treading a fine, fine line, and he’s willing to fall into the abyss for Dream–“I tried the dress and the heels on. They fit really well. I really struggled walking, but everything felt really nice and comfortable.”

He hears a muffled groan on the other end, “Georgie, fuck, I–” 

It’s as if George’s fantasies have come to life, it’s everything he imagined and more. His pants grow a bit tighter with interest and as much as he wants to let Dream keep going, he interjects before Dream goes any further in the direction George thinks he’s going in.

“Dream, I-I really like you but I don’t think I can go further with you if you don’t feel the same about me.” Most of the damage is done, so he continues rambling on, “I mean, same as what you said earlier, I hope this doesn’t change anything between us–I really hope it doesn’t, but I definitely understand if things do change. And if you don’t feel the same for me. It’s completely fine.”

At this point, George is mostly trying to convince himself. Dream is his best friend first and his crush second, and if he suddenly lost his best friend? He can’t imagine how lost he’d feel. His breaths come out in shaky and unstable bursts, but he tries to swallow down his nerves all the same.

It’s a few moments before Dream replies. Those moments are perhaps the longest seconds he’s ever experienced in his life.

“George, Georgie, I like you so much.”  _ Oh.  _ Relief rushes through his veins like a crystal clear mountain stream and he lets out a happy sob. Dream continues on, “You're so smart, creative, talented–I could go on forever. It's hard for me to take my attention off of you, you're just, really something special, you know that?”

George laughs wetly. The tension he’d been feeling earlier has dissipated, leaving him a little overemotional. “So this is what Sap meant when he called stupid–how did he know about the package anyway?”

“Oh,” George can feel waves of embarrassment over the voice call, “I texted him after all the stuff I ordered online came to my place. I had no idea what to do with it other than send it all to you, so I just picked a couple of things, mailed it over, and hoped for the best. Of course, he called me an idiot, but–”

“Dream.”

“Yeah?”

“ _ There’s more stuff? _ ”

“Oh,” A cough, “Yeah, there is.”

“Jesus, Dream, how much did you even spend?”

An embarrassed laugh filters over the line, “Way too much, I definitely should  _ not  _ get wasted by myself at home in the future.”

“Well are you going to send the rest over?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yeah, I’d really like that.” George thinks about how quick he admitted that, then blurts, “Only if you want though.”

“What else would I do with these nice things I’ve got that happen to be in your size,” Dream’s voice drops into something darker and startlingly attractive, “Would you wear them for me?”

Yes, yes the answer is always yes, “Of course I would.”

Dream laughs, bright and vibrant, “I’ll send them over this week.”

This time, the ensuing silence is filled with warmth and comfort. George smiles and allows himself to take deep breaths, listening to the white noise that filters through his headset.

“Goodnight, Dream.”

“Goodnight, George.”

With a click, the conversation is over. They have so much more to talk about, but as George gets ready for bed, he can’t help the fluttering excitement in his chest for Dream’s package.

**Author's Note:**

> dream's package? pun intended
> 
> may write a second chapter to this (more lingerie + sexting + video fun), but in the meantime, just wanted to open up fic requests here: https://forms.gle/PNF52YBLexnYoXea6 !! please please drop some prompts to keep me motivated to write and improve
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated, and as always, thanks for reading lovelies 
> 
> edit [jan 30 2021]: and now i have a twitter! @/mxguillotines<3


End file.
